


Artful Deception

by coxorangepippin



Series: The Chulanont-Katsuki Guide to Forgery [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Crime but not violence, Fluff, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Organized Crime, seriously so many shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 13:10:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13614045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coxorangepippin/pseuds/coxorangepippin
Summary: Phichit held out his hand, and pulled Yuuri upright with surprising strength.“Yuuri,” he said, and his eyes danced with promise, “I think that we are going to do great things together, you and I.”----------------Yuuri Katsuki is a talented young artist, who is lucky enough to get into his dream university. He believes in lectures, rules, and trying his hardest.That is, until he meets Phichit Chulanont, who believes in living life to the fullest, even if it clashes with your lecture timetable.There is also the minor matter of his being the heir to an enormous criminal empire, which he's sure he'll tell Yuuri about....one day.------------------A prequel to The Sincerest Form of Flattery, this work covers Phichit and Yuuri's university years, and the beginning of their partnership as some of the greatest forgers the criminal world has ever seen.





	1. An Auspicious Meeting

Yuuri’s first day at university was, very nearly, one of the worst days of his life.

He hadn’t expected it to be. He had, in fact, been looking forward to it with breathless anticipation for _months_.

Yuuri hadn’t expected to get in in the first place. When he opened the letter with shaking hands, sure it contained a rejection, and found that he had got in, it had taken his parents ten minutes to get him to speak. He had been so excited, so _happy_ to be accepted to his first choice university; his parents were so proud of his achievement that there wasn’t one person in his village that didn’t know about it within a few hours. Yuuri spent every day that long summer staring at pictures of the ancient buildings in the prospectus, reading his course description, and painting, always painting.

The day finally arrived. It was September, and it was warm; the summer sun seemed determined to linger beyond its allotted time, and it gilded the rust-coloured leaves of the plane trees by the college entrance, making the pale sandstone of the walls glow brightly as though freshly hewn.

The small university town was busy, full of eager new students and jaded second and third years; bicycles sped by on every street, and clustered against poster-clad railings, looking forlorn without their riders. Bells from the nearby college chapels rang incessantly, signalling every quarter of an hour with their almost-in-tune pealing, a constant reminder of how time flies.

Yuuri thought his heart would burst, he was so excited.

His parents had insisted on driving him and his enormous amount of luggage, and Yuuri was very grateful for it. His rooms were in one of the oldest college buildings, located on the north side of an ancient quadrangle; the words ‘Katsuki, Yuuri’ were painted over his door. His parents helped him wheel the suitcases through the gate, and haul them up several flights of stairs that were medievally narrow; clearly built for an era before Samsonite.

Yuuri looked around at his new rooms, and felt an overwhelming sense of disbelief that he was really _here_. He had really done it.

Bells chimed outside, marking another half hour gone, bright in the clear afternoon air.

Yuuri’s parents exclaimed over the two-room set, a small bedroom attached to a much larger living room; Yuuri was lucky, as most first years made do with a single room the size of a she cupboard. There was a dilapidated sofa, a desk which had an enormous red wine stain splashed across the surface, and two low-slung green armchairs which looked as though they might have been there since the College’s foundation. They unpacked his things; clothes in the musty-smelling wardrobe, bright cushions on the sofa, and most importantly, his easel by the tall sash window, where it would catch the most light.

Yuuri’s parents hugged him, told him to call them whenever he wanted (and that they would call him if he didn’t; the warning wasn’t even thinly veiled, but stark naked), and then got back in their car and drove away.

Yuuri waved them out of sight from the college gates, and then let his hand drop to his side.

He stood there for another few minutes. The car was long gone, but he kept his eyes fixed on the point on the horizon he thought it had disappeared into. His parents were gone. He was still here.

Suddenly, his hard won independence felt a lot….lonelier.

Yuuri swallowed hard, and turned back to the staircase that led to his rooms. He trudged up the stairs, one foot after the other, and pushed the iron-hard wooden door to his living room open. His rooms were bright in the afternoon sunlight; the cushions and paintings that his parents had arranged with him that morning were glowing in the sunlight, and reminded him of home. Where he wasn't. 

Yuuri’s lip wobbled, and a lump rose in his throat. He looked at the cushions that his mother had bought for him, arranged with her usual care into exactly equal distances on the sofa, and felt a painful twinge in his heart. 

 _I am the most pathetic human to ever exist,_ he thought. _Brought to tears by cushions. I bet there's no one else here who-_

There was a tap on his door.

Yuuri spun in surprise, coughing to clear the sudden obstruction of emotion in his throat, and dashing the unwelcome tears from his eyes before they could fall.

Someone was standing in the doorway, hand raised as though they had just knocked.

Someone with dark hair, dark eyes, and dark skin. Someone whose smile was approximately thirteen thousand megawatts. Someone who had, Yuuri realised, seen his crying as he stared at a cushion.

The stranger spoke, his voice musical and light, and filled with audible exclamation marks.

“Hello! You’re Yuuri! I’m your neighbour! My name’s Phichit! How do you-”

Phichit ( _an unusual name,_ Yuuri thought slightly dazedly) trailed off as he noticed Yuuri’s red eyes, and his still slightly quivering bottom lip.

He took a step into the room, and peered slightly more closely at Yuuri's face, who shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Phichit took another step closer, and then another, and his dark eyes were narrowed slightly as though appraising the situation.

Then, without warning, he flung his arms around Yuuri’s waist and hugged him.

Yuuri stiffened. He was not the type of person who was particularly comfortable with physical contact from anyone, let alone strangers. But somehow, this boy…

“It’ll be ok! I promise! I know it’s all new, but after a few days you won’t even remember why you were scared in the first place!” Phichit sang, his voice slightly muffled by Yuuri’s rigid shoulder.

Yuuri breathed in the oil-paint and charcoal smell of Phichit’s hair. He heard the sincerity in his voice, and felt the warmth of his arms.

He relaxed.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and Phichit let him go and stepped back, his beaming smile somehow even more radiant than before.

“Better?” he asked, and Yuuri managed a watery smile.

“Better,” Yuuri said, and blushed slightly. He felt that some sort of explanation was necessary. “It was just that…my parents just left, and the cushions reminded me of home…”

Phichit nodded seriously, and patted Yuuri on the shoulder. “I cried for about three solid hours when my parents left. I looked an absolute _sight_ , I’m sure. I’ve been here for a few days; they let the international students move in early. Want a tour guide to your new city?”

At that moment, he caught sight of Yuuri’s easel, and immediately rushed over to it, exclaiming that it was wonderful, that Yuuri was probably far more talented than him, that he couldn’t believe they were really there, and oh my goodness we're both art students, and would Yuuri come and have dinner with him?

Yuuri smiled. Maybe this wouldn’t be the worst day of his life, after all.

 

***********

  
  
From that moment onwards, Phichit and Yuuri were very rarely seen apart.

They were both studying Fine Art, a course which wasn’t that large; they were the only two students who studied it at their college.

Their first few days were full of safety talks and admin, buying their black undergraduate gowns and working out where the laundry room was. The college had been built long before such luxuries as showers or hot running water had existed, and it showed; Yuuri was flabbergasted to learn that the showers were five flights of steps down, across the courtyard, through a locked door and up another flight of stairs.

They met the other students that lived in their building; quiet and studious Guang Hong, carefree and relaxed Leo de la Iglesia, and the unreadable Sara Crispino. They all seemed friendly enough; Yuuri was extremely relieved that they had been placed near him. Phichit had told him that Michele, Sara’s brother, had been put near a Korean boy who never spoke at _all_.

Those first few days felt like a dream; Yuuri walked down ancient cobbled streets, ate in a huge wooden-panelled dining hall covered in portraits of old College Masters, and gazed out over the skyline that was visible from his window every evening with a sense of reverent disbelief. 

It rapidly became apparent that despite Phichit’s protestations that Yuuri was probably going to be far better than him, he was immensely talented; the two of them gained a reputation in their faculty for a very high standard of work, and a very low rate of attendance. It also became apparent as Yuuri got to know him better that Phichit was phenomenally wealthy, and seemed to view his degree as a very interesting diversion, but not one that he needed to be overly worked up about. Yuuri had Opinions about his attitude; he himself viewed his degree as his one shining chance to seize the future that he wanted, even if he didn’t yet know what that future looked like.

A week into term, the real work began.

When Yuuri received his first lecture schedule, he felt a thrill of excitement. It was left in his pigeon hole, alone with a letter from his parents, and forty seven invitations to join different college societies; Yuuri doubted very much whether he would ever be interested in water-polo or jazz oboe, but he dutifully took the flyers and stuffed them into his backpack.

His first lecture was scheduled for the next morning; an introduction to portraiture. Yuuri felt the fizz of anticipation in his stomach; _finally_ , he thought. _This is what I came here to do._

The next day dawned; he excitedly set out with Phichit to the lecture hall, a huge white Palladian building that looked very out of place amongst the sandstone of the rest of the town.

He unpacked his paper, and his new pens, and sat up attentively when the lecturer entered.

He left an hour later with an enormous puncture in his excitement, and Phichit swore that that was the last hour of his life he would waste in that building.

He and Phichit quickly realised that the lectures were not compulsory, and nor were they very interesting. Professors seemed to view the undergraduate students as something of an inconvenience; necessary for them to maintain their tenure, but to be avoided if possible.

Yuuri was still been determined to attend every lecture that was scheduled for him. _On principle_ , he said. Phichit sighed, and went along with him to the first five or six. They didn’t improve; if anything, the lecturers were somewhat surprised to see people still turning up by day five of term.

Phichit was damned if Yuuri was going to waste his time on these lecturers who didn’t appreciate his effort or his interest. Besides, if he went, then Phichit had to go too, and he could think of _so many_ more interesting things they could be doing.

After that, Phichit began his war of attrition; he mentally dubbed it _The Corruption of Yuuri Katsuki._

*********

 

His war plan began with the battle over lectures. Yuuri was not a morning person at the best of times, and Phichit soon learned that the only way to lure him away from the lecture hall was to persuade his sleep-addled brain that there were far more immediately rewarding options available.

“Look, Yuuri! I made croissants! Stay and have breakfast with me?”

“Yuuri, my mama sent a new coffee blend from home! It’s heavenly! Stay and try some?”

“Yuuri, look! I found a video compilation of poodles trying to catch Frisbees!”

His progress was slow. Phichit learned that when it came to his principles, Yuuri possessed the grim determination of some of his father’s more…interesting acquaintances. But gradually, he made progress.

The second week of term, he managed to persuade Yuuri to miss one lecture. _You already know so much about the Impressionistic Mindset, Yuuri,_ he had said, _you could probably do the lecture yourself! And besides, I got Chelsea buns from that bakery round the corner that we’ve been meaning to try. Don’t make me eat them by myself._ Yuuri had caved under the combination of flattery, baked goods, and Phichit’s widest and saddest eyed expression.

The third week of term, having found the chink in Yuuri’s principled armour, Phichit managed to persuade Yuuri to miss three lectures.

By week six, Yuuri didn’t even need persuading anymore; sometimes he even bought the Chelsea buns himself.

Phichit smiled. He had won the first battle _with_ Yuuri, _for_ Yuuri. Yuuri had so much potential; he was kind, and clever, and beautiful, and unbelievably talented. Despite knowing him only a few weeks Phichit was already prepared to raze to the ground anything or anyone which caused him pain; Yuuri inspired that kind of reaction in most people, Phichit had noticed.

Interesting. He was going to think about what that meant, and how it could be used in the future.

But for now, he was going to have coffee and Chelsea buns with Yuuri in his ancient room, on his dilapidated sofa, and watch videos of poodles that couldn’t catch food in their mouths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo as it turns out, I couldn't let this AU go just yet!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who said they would like to see more of Phichit and Yuuri's criminal stylings; I hope that this answers your needs!
> 
> A note on the setting: I won't say where I went specifically, but let's just say I'm drawing from experience when I describe this fictional (definitely fictional) university. If any of it sounds too pretentious and ridiculous to be real......it's not.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy this prequel! I'm planning on covering Phichit and Yuuri's university years, and maybe the first year or so after they graduate. Please leave a comment/kudos if you enjoy it, and come and say hi to me on tumblr at cox-orange-pippin (plz I need frands)
> 
> EDIT: Also, I am not 200% happy with the title yet, but after a while of just staring at the screen I think I'll leave it as is for now, for the preserving of my sanity


	2. Dog Days (and Nights)

The next battle in Phichit’s attempts to improve Yuuri’s life, against his will if necessary, revolved around The Rules. Specifically, Yuuri’s aversion to breaking them.

It was November. The air outside was arctic, but Yuuri’s living room was warm; a fire was lit in the ancient grate, and Yuuri was painting, his enormous easel angled towards the fire to catch its flickering glow. He wore an old t-shirt, smeared with a brightly-coloured rainbow of paint, and smudged with charcoal dust; his glasses had slid down to the end of his nose again, and as Yuuri pushed them back up, he left a stripe of electric blue oil paint on his cheek.

Phichit was lying upside down on the battered green sofa, watching him. And thinking.

They had known each other for two months. Phichit had grasped the essentials of Yuuri Katsuki; he could probably have done a lecture course on the finer nuances of his character. Yuuri knew as much about him as he was willing to reveal, at this point. Maybe, in the future, he could tell him….but no. Not yet. Phichit had more important matters to discuss.

“Yuuri, my dove, my dearest, light of my darkest day; why is it I’ve never seen you drunk?”

Yuuri started. He had been absorbed in his painting (a perfect rendition of Gaugin’s Vase of Flowers), and Phichit’s voice seemed to break whatever spell he was under.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, looking up distractedly, and Phichit smiled in a way that Yuuri was learning to recognise. It presaged Trouble. Last time he had smiled like that, he had convinced Yuuri that lectures were a waste of his time. He had been right, but even so…

Phichit sat up, righting himself on the sofa, and arranged his long limbs elegantly along its length. He made the worn green pile of the cushion covers look positively stylish just by sitting on the, Yuuri thought.

Phichit arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, and repeated himself. "I said, why it is, beloved, that I’ve never seen you drunk?”

Yuuri thought for a few moments. _Drunk? Why is he asking…?_

He shook his head, firelight glinting off his glasses. “I don’t get drunk very easily, I suppose. You’ve seen me drink; there’s wine at nearly every College event.” Yuuri shrugged, and turned back to his painting. “High tolerance, I suppose.”

Phichit grinned.

He stood up, and disappeared out through Yuuri’s door, clattering down the stone steps to his own bedroom on the floor below. Yuuri turned to ask him what was going on, but he had already disappeared from sight; Yuuri sighed. He was learning to recognise Phichit’s moods, and he was in a perverse one now. Saying no to whatever he was planning would be futile. Yuuri went back to his canvas.

For a few minutes, there was silence, and then Yuuri heard Phichit’s steps approaching again. He skidded through the door at some speed, dark eyes dancing, both hands held behind his back. Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

_Oh no. This is not good. There’s that smile again….._

Phichit waited until he was sure he had Yuuri’s full attention, ever dramatic. And then, slowly, ever so slowly, he pulled his hands from behind his back, and revealed his prize.

Yuuri began to laugh.

One hand held two elegant, long stemmed wine glasses. They were carved with many tiny diamond-shaped indents, and seemed to be as high quality as everything else Phichit owned; Yuuri was learning to notice quality, the longer their friendship persisted.

In other hand, precariously balanced, were two bottles of a dark liquid.

“Phichit, what’s all this?” Yuuri asked, still smiling at his friend’s dramatic entrance.

“Port, darling one.” Phichit replied, setting the glasses down on the table and uncorking one of the bottles. “An excellent vintage. My father sent me some, and it needs drinking, and I would like to drink it with you.” He managed to work the cork out; there was a pop, and the smell of raisins and honey drifted from the top of the bottle. Yuuri sniffed appreciatively.

“And I should warn you, dearest,” Phichit continued, pouring the deep ruby liquid into the two wine glasses, “I do have ulterior motives.” He waggled an eyebrow like a cartoon villain.

“Oh, do you now?” Yuuri asked, raising an eyebrow in response to the humour in Phichit’s voice. He walked over and grasped one of the glasses that Phichit proffered.

“I do. Yuuri Katsuki, I am going to see you rascally drunk if it’s the last thing I do,” Phichit said solemnly, his dark eyes dancing. “Hence, we are using wine glasses rather than those ridiculous thimbles people insist on drinking port out of. Are you in?”

Yuuri tucked the paintbrush in his hand behind his ear, and downed the glass in one.

Phichit’s smile grew wider.

“I am,” said Yuuri. Phichit refilled the wine glass.

Yuuri felt the first warm glow of the alcohol winding through his veins, intoxicating and golden. He did have a very high tolerance, after all; he was sure he could drink Phichit under the table on his worst day. He was stockier, for one thing. Besides, Phichit seemed to have an underlying invitation in his words that made Yuuri shiver slightly; it wasn’t quite wicked, but it was definitely enticing.

Yuuri could never resist a challenge, after all.

 

*************

 

Phichit groaned. He felt as though something large and heavy was sitting on his head. And the sun was far too bright- what was…?

He tried to sit up, but realised that the heavy object was far more tangible than he had first thought. He grunted, and shoved at it, and heard a complaining moan.

He sat up.

The heavy object, it seemed, had been Yuuri.

Who was naked from the waist up, had some kind of occult symbols painted on his chest, and was sleeping on his sofa.

Phichit stared.

_What happened last night?_

Yuuri groaned, and turned over, burying his face in the crook of his arm. Phichit continued to stare; _was that a tie knotted around his head…?_

Phichit groped in his pocket for his phone, and hopefully some answers. Mercifully, it was still there- however, he had moved slightly too quickly, and had to wait for the world to stop spinning before he could look at the screen. He opened the camera, and flicked through the last few photos.

And then flicked slightly faster, a smile working its way on to his face despite the feeling that some iron-shaving-filled cotton wool had replaced his brain.

_Yuuri and him, smiling, Yuuri still in his paint-splattered shirt, holding their wine glasses up for the camera._

_Yuuri holding up two empty bottles of port, now shirtless, his eyes wide and shining and his face flushed._

_Phichit waving two bottles of champagne in the air; someone (Yuuri?) had painted a loveheart on his cheek._

And then….oh goodness.

_He and Yuuri in a club, a selfie of them with their tongues out. They were both flushed, and Yuuri had managed to find a tie, but not a shirt._

_Yuuri hanging upside down from a lamppost, in a very impressive pole dancing move._

_Phichit trying the same move._

_Phichit on the pavement, apparently bewailing his failure._

_Phichit carrying….._ oh dear.

Phichit didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He looked up, hoping against hope that he wouldn't see what he expected to see.

He was apparently out of luck, because now, it was curled up asleep in the corner of the room.

Phichit gaped in disbelief. He elbowed Yuuri where he lay on the sofa.

Yuuri groaned, and mumbled something along the lines of “Can’t move, am dead,” though the sound was muffled by his arm.

Phichit prodded him again, slightly harder, and Yuuri flung his arm off his face with a sigh. He cracked open one bleary eye.

“So we’re not dead, then?”

Phichit grinned. “Not only are we not dead, my only sunshine, we apparently had quite the night.” He gestured towards the corner of the room, where…

Yuuri sat up, too quickly, and groaned, gripping his head with both hands as though trying to hold it together.

“Please tell me that’s a hangover illusion. Or that I really am dead, and this is a Satanic illusion.”

Phichit shook his head slowly, and by now his smile was positively glowing. “No, my beloved. This is no grisly phantasm. It’s real.”

Yuuri went even paler. “Oh my god. We stole the Master’s dog.”

The black cocker spaniel, seemingly knowing that it was under discussion, yawned and quirked an ear.

Phichit and Yuuri stared at it, motionless.

It stood up, and padded over to Phichit, sniffing at his hand.

Yuuri began to laugh, and Phichit joined him. It started slowly, just some chuckles escaping through unwilling lips, but within a few moments they were roaring, bent double and unable to stop. In between hysterical shouts of laughter, Yuuri managed to pant out “We…stole….the Master’s…dog!”

Phichit, tears running down his face, had no breath to reply; he just nodded, and that set the two of them off again. The spaniel, unimpressed with their display, padded across to the door and sat down in front of it, patiently waiting to be let out.

Yuuri and Phichit managed to control themselves after a few minutes, their faces aching. Phichit stood up, wiping tears away from his flawless skin.

“Yuuri, my love,” he said in a tone that was very serious, but still held the undertone of his laughter in its depths, “First, we are going to deliver this excellent, most wonderful dog to the Porter’s lodge, and claim that we found her running around the quad. Then, we are going to by some arcane means acquire coffee and bacon, and restore our soft tissues. And then, we are going to come back and attempt to remember _every detail_ about last night, in order that posterity may remember our mighty deeds. Sound like a plan?”

Yuuri attempted to stand, but his legs buckled for a moment and pitched him back onto the sofa. He looked up at Phichit, nodded, and added “Include a Chelsea bun in the equation and you have yourself a deal.”

Phichit held out a hand, and pulled Yuuri upright with surprising strength.

“Yuuri,” he said, and his eyes danced with promise, “I think that we are going to do great things together, you and I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it; the beginning of a beautiful friendship!
> 
> On a side note: Phichit is an angel. 
> 
> Please leave kudos/a comment if you're enjoying this; it super helps with motivation!


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